


let it go, let it go, can't hold it back anymore

by fizzy_smile



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Fluff, LA Era (Crooked Media RPF), M/M, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21757006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzy_smile/pseuds/fizzy_smile
Summary: A drop of holiday sweetness.
Relationships: Jon Lovett/Tommy Vietor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36
Collections: Crooked Secret Santa 2019





	let it go, let it go, can't hold it back anymore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SelfRescuingPrincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelfRescuingPrincess/gifts).

> Huge thanks to my intelligent, kind, incredi-betas: egt, Q, and okaystop. 
> 
> Thanks to my recipient SelfRescuingPrincess for being so sweet & lovely that it felt much less intimidating to do this for the first time, since it was for her. 
> 
> As always, the fourth wall is our friend. No need for anyone even peripherally related to anyone to know a thing about this.

There had been a wave of random freezetags lately. One poor chump had been hung up at a Dunkins window for 45 minutes til he recited the chain’s TV tag line from the 80s, “Time to make the donuts.” Tommy and Favs enjoyed hearing about that one, it got a lot of coverage on the morning news shows.

Fran Lovett was out at the supermarket when she got freezetagged, frozen from the waist down. She and the other woman at the deli counter went through listing cuts of steak, the Oscar Weiner jingle, for about ten minutes. It was only when they looked at the number slips in their hands, and rolling their eyes, read the number up on the “Next Customer” screen -- 69 -- at the same time. No one could claim the phenomenon was without a sense of humor.

The freezetags had gradually come to be accepted as just one of those things that happened -- now that pi had been solved to 31.4 trillion places and there was a woman in the White House -– life was moving in a positive direction but there were these little hiccups sometimes.

So far the only Crooked freezetags had happened outside the studio. Three students in Travis’ yoga class had gotten stuck in child pose for a few minutes until someone suggested reciting nursery rhymes, and “Row Row Row Your Boat” did the trick. Priyanka had been at the bowling alley tying her rental shoes next to a friend, and the unfreezing came once they shook hands.

On the random channel of the office slack, there had been some idle speculating about when they'd have one at Crooked, who it would involve, and how they'd get out of it. People on the content side figured since they were knee deep in politics all day, the release might come in the form of reciting bits of the Constitution or listing the Presidents or facts about the House or Senate. The producers just decided to invoke Guglielmo Marconi and Philo Farnsworth and hope that worked. 

Theirs happened the week after Thanksgiving.

Lovett was kneeling, applying baking soda to where Pundit had peed. Tommy knelt down next to him for a second to retrieve the ball he’d been throwing for Lucca, so the subsequent freeze was not necessarily unexpected, or even surprising. They looked at each other and burst into laughter.

“Oh great," Lovett said, "is this going to be like a church thing? What do WASPs do while they pray? Does anyone have the Book of Common Prayer handy?” 

Through his giggles, Tommy tried to remember common phrases from church. It had been years since he had gone to St. Paul’s with his mom, but some things you never forget. 

“We believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty . . .” he began.

For his part, after shaking Tommy's hand (conventional wisdom said to try all the easy things first), Lovett started testing different combinations of fist bumps with Tommy, right hand to right hand, left to left, right to left, left to right, as Tommy droned on, in Episcopalian fashion.

Was it something dog-related? Since they were both kneeling for dog-related reasons? Lovett spun through a quick round of dog puns and aphorisms, getting to Harry Truman's “If you want a friend in Washington, buy a dog,” but stuck they remained. 

A few minutes had passed when, looking around the room, Tommy paused in his recitation of the Nicene Creed and said in a small, choked voice, “Lovett, there’s mistletoe up there.”

There had been a haphazard effort amongst the interns toward putting up some holiday decor around the office. But amidst the buzz of the Kavanaugh impeachment hearings, momentum had been hard to sustain. For now, there were white plastic trees in the studio, a few garlands of tinsel festooning the kitchen, some cardboard dreidels on the front door, and this lone little sprig of mistletoe tied above them.

By the time he pulled his eyes from the ceiling, Tommy had his practiced neutral expression on. Inside, he felt panicky and off-kilter, heart racing. He can be chill, of course he can, he tells himself, no big deal, just his favorite most frustrating person in the world who he might be _kissing_ soon, as he eyed Lovett coolly. Would Lovett go along with it or argue-rant the point for a while first? Always a wild card, his Lovett, he thought fondly.

Affecting calm, Tommy arched a pale eyebrow at Lovett, silent challenge extended. 

Lovett was not about to be intimidated by this lean anxious greyhound – killer cheekbones be damned -- he had not gotten this far in life by being timid – Lovett nodded, with the question in his eye: _You man enough?_

Carefully, Tommy leaned toward Lovett with a faint smile. His intent was to keep this neutral and short, just to get them unstuck, to not be a creep. Even though the blood pounding in his brain was shouting _Lovett Lovett Lovett Lovett. _

Lovett was impressed by Tommy’s apparent rapid acceptance of the situation once it became obvious what the probable fix was. Like, as if Tommy was not _not _into it. And now Lovett was going to get a glimpse into the up close and personal final layer of the Tommy appeal. G-d bless freezetag. G-d bless mistletoe, that silly plant. G-d bless the screwy goyim and their screwy holiday forest-plant traditions.

As Tommy’s lips gently brushed his, Lovett inhaled sharply. _What the fuck, _he thought. _Tommy smells so clean. And hot. _ His knees were still frozen to the ground and all he could feel was that barely-there pressure. 

Over the roaring in his brain, Tommy could dimly register, _Lovett smells so . . . Lovett . . . I never knew. . . damn. _

Without conscious thought he leaned farther in, unable to pull away. Somehow his hand was now gripping the back of Lovett’s neck, pulling him closer.

Slowly, they tipped over to the side, intoxicated with tasting each other. Lovett moved his hand to the cord of muscle at Tommy's neck, marveling at its strength. A few minutes or hours later, Pundit butted her head against his shoulder and Lovett shook his head as if awakening. 

_What. Was. That? Tommy's eyes are even prettier from close up. So now what? _ he thought.

“Hey Tommy.” Lovett smiled shyly, feeling giddy and muzzy and overwhelmed. 

Tommy looked back at him, a gleam in his eye and his hair disheveled. “So," he said.

“So.” said Lovett.

"I guess that worked to undo the freeze."

"Yeah."

“Can I staple some of that stuff to the brim of your ugly baseball caps?”

“Are you suggesting that my impeccably curated inversion of heteronormative bro athleisure wear . . . wait, what?” Lovett broke off the rant prematurely.

‘You heard me,” Tommy whispered as he nuzzled in for more.

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> title from the cold never bothered me anyway. millions of thanks to ruthie and katie for being excellent.


End file.
